


A Silver Tongued Devil

by Fightyourdragon



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fightyourdragon/pseuds/Fightyourdragon
Summary: Filavandrel hunts Jaskier down to get his lute back and scold him about that damn song...things do not go exactly as he had planned! For example, he'd expected it to involve far less naked time, but who is he to complain?
Relationships: Filavandrel aén Fidháil/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 154





	A Silver Tongued Devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kathkin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathkin/gifts).



> Based on this Tumblr post by penny-anna: Because the idea of Filavndrel going off to scold Jaskier about the song and get his lute back would not leave my head! Also, my ever-patient beta reader and friend Hedwig_Dordt kept sending me all these lovely little prompts until I finally finished this! Love you, hun. 
> 
> https://penny-anna.tumblr.com/post/190840987483/filavandrel-goes-looking-for-jaskier-like-nothing

Jaskier trips up the stairs of the inn, laughing and tugging along the lovely barmaid who had waited so patiently for him to finish his set. He fumbles his door open and then freezes, stumbling forward when the lady runs straight into his back. It takes him a few moments to recognize the man standing near his bed and a few more to connect the likely dots, but then…”Ah. Right.” He turns to Ariet- he thinks that’s her name anyway- and makes a bow. “Alas my beauty, it seems my bed is already claimed for the night.” 

She glances over to the man and pouts. “I don’t mind if he joins in.” 

“Ah, but he does. Old patron, very ah, possessive,” Jaskier insists, spinning her about and prodding her towards the door. “Until next time, my queen,” he lilts before shutting the door in her astonished face and barring it. 

“Filavandrel,” he drawls, turning and taking a single step forward. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Or more accurately, what promise of pleasure led you here? Can’t get me out of your pretty little head?” He hopes to catch the elf off-guard and diffuse the situation a bit, because it is fairly obvious from his stern expression that pleasure was  _ not _ the motivation for this visit. 

Filavandrel blinks at the bard in confusion for a moment. This is not at all how he expected this encounter to begin. He’d expected those ridiculously large eyes to fill with fear or possibly disdain. He’d planned to rough the man up a bit and get him to stop singing that damned song. But now that he thinks about it, Jaskier is rather pretty and there is more than one way to stop a man’s mouth. He forgets his well-rehearsed threatening speech when Jaskier simply grins at his lack of words and takes another step forward while letting his doublet drop to the floor. “I- that song! I let you live and this is how you repay me? Every idiot from here to the coast is singing about a silver tongued devil and elves being put on shelves and I will not be made a fool of!” There. He fixes Jaskier with an indignant glare. 

“Those fools are keeping you alive, your highness,” Jaskier points out. “Now no one is looking for you. You’re safe as long as everyone believes Geralt got rid of you. I did you a  _ favor _ . For the lute. For our lives.” Jaskier takes another step and sweeps his gaze over Filavandrel. He is rather lovely, and Jaskier has never bedded an elf. Suddenly it doesn’t seem entirely out of the realm of possibility, and he does so love a challenge. 

“You...what?” Filavandrel hadn’t considered this possibility. “You didn’t write it to shame us?” 

“Never,” Jaskier vows, taking two more steps and now he is so close he could touch Filavandrel if he dared. 

“Sing it differently then. For me. Sing me the real tale,” Filavandrel challenges, disconcerted by how drawn he is to this man. How unexpected the rush of desire that floods him is. He doesn’t expect Jaskier to actually  _ do _ it, but apparently the man lives to astonish. 

Jaskier is actually rather impressed with himself, which is saying a lot because he has a high opinion to begin with, but the hastily thrown together tune involving the handsome elf king who spared their lives and lost his home in a cruel tragedy is a thing of beauty. He makes sure to weave in more than a few suggestive lines, just to test the waters. He can see the exact moment Filavandrel gives up on punishing him and decides he wants to bed him instead, and it is a heady thing indeed. He lets his fingers reach out and trail slowly up Filavandrel’s arms as he sings, shifting infinitesimally closer until they are practically sharing breath when he finishes. “How was that?” he asks, letting his fingers slide into Filavandrel’s hair. 

“I’m going to regret this,” is all Filavandrel manages before dragging Jaskier in for a bruising kiss. He makes a truly embarrassing noise when Jaskier growls in appreciation as their teeth clack together and claws at his back, and he knows immediately that this will be no soft romantic encounter. He is filled with a sudden rushing need to mark, to claim, to be marked in return. 

Jaskier walks them backwards then shoves Filavandrel hard, sending him sprawling onto the bed. He grins and begins stripping rapidly. “Well?” he challenges, winking as he strips off his chemise. 

Filavandrel suspects there is some accidental magic in play, because they are naked far sooner than should be possible and tumbling around the bed in a tangle of limbs, and there is scratching and biting and spit-slicked kisses. Jaskier’s body is endlessly fascinating, deceptively strong and his chest hair creates an interesting sensation as their bodies slide together and Filavandrel has never considered body hair to be a turn on but somehow in this moment it is. He straddles Jaskier’s hips and runs his fingers through it, tugging experimentally and thrilling at the way Jaskier arches up into the slight sting. “I like this,” he catches himself saying aloud because apparently the bard has destroyed his ability to filter his words. 

“Play all you like,” Jaskier encourages, running his hands down Filavandrel’s chest and then lower to scratch his nails down nearly hairless thighs. “Are all elves as smooth as this?” He whines and bucks up as Filavandrel shifts his hips and grinds down with more intent. He moves to run his fingers over the soft skin of the nearly bare sack against his own. “I would very much like to know what this feels like in my mouth,” he says because the elf seems to appreciate directness. He grabs the slender hips and twists, arranging it so Filavandrel is laid out beneath him instead, and it is a lovely sight indeed. 

“Oh no, you don’t get to have all the fun,” Filavandrel counters with a smirk, highly doubting Jaskier has ever experienced what he has in mind. He sits up and grabs at Jaskier’s hips, manhandling him until the man finally gets the idea and swings his leg over to straddle Filavandrel’s face, cock bobbing just out of reach. 

“This is new,” Jaskier squeaks in what he is sure is a manly fashion as Filavandrel huffs in frustration at his confused lack of movement and yanks his hips down hard. Taking hold of his length just long enough to guide it into his mouth, the elf takes him in so deep Jaskier can feel the back of his throat and he whines as the elf swallows around his girth. Jaskier’s knees splay wider and he barely manages to hold himself up on his forearms as he sees fucking stars. His thighs tremble and he can feel Filavandrel’s evil smile and oh, it is  _ on _ .

“Lucky for you I catch on quickly,” Jaskier promises as he licks a messy stripe up Filavandrel’s cock before proving he doesn’t have much of a gag reflex either. The angle is different and it is much harder to focus on giving great head when his own cock is being worshiped at the same time but he’ll be damned if he lets the elf win. He’s pretty sure whoever comes first loses this particular game so he does his best to focus on what he is doing and not what is being done to him. 

Filavandrel lets Jaskier’s cock slip out of his mouth with an obscene slurp, admiring it as it slaps against the man’s stomach. “I thought you wanted something else in your mouth,” he teases, pinching the firm ass he has such easy access to. 

“Used to being obeyed much, your highness?” Jaskier teases right back, biting the elf’s thigh in retaliation. He has a point though. “Fine, switch,” he says, pulling away and flopping onto his back. It seems easier from the bottom and besides, he’s developing a plan. He definitely wants this night to end with him being able to say he’s fucked a king after all. 

Filavandrel goes easily, swinging a leg over and sucking Jaskier right down again. There is something enticingly carnal about the way the blonde curls tickle his nose, and the man’s scent is stronger than that of an elf, but not at all off putting. His skin is hotter that he is used to as well, and already covered in a light sheen of sweat and it is so new and exciting that he is just distracted enough to jolt in pleased surprise when a slick tongue slides from the base of his cock and back to circle just around where he’d like it most.

“Oh, was that not what you had in mind?” Jaskier asks innocently before sucking his entire sack in at once and humming in a wickedly pleased sort of tone. 

“You little hellion,” Filavandrel accuses, shocked at how fond his tone comes out. “Are you sure you want the Witcher? You would be very popular in my court.”

“Who says I want him?” Jaskier asks as he pushes at the elf’s chest, urging him to sit back on his heels and oh, he really does have a lovely pink little opening. He breathes over it teasingly and adores the way Filavandrel squirms. 

“Try not to lie when I can literally see your heartbeat speed up,” Filavandrel retorts, laying a hand over Jaskier’s chest. 

“Try not to talk about another man when I’m busy making you scream,” Jaskier counters, yanking Filavandrel down by the hips and shoving his tongue inside the elf before he has a chance to respond. 

Filavandrel definitely did not start this encounter planning on being the one on hs back, but after the way Jaskier took him apart with his talented tongue Filavandrel finds he can’t deny him, and soon his legs are wrapped around Jaskier’s waist as the bard thrusts so deeply inside, so hard, he swears he sees the birth of the stars. He’s close, so very close and then....Jaskier stops. 

Jaskier grins, his arms holding Filavandrel fast and denying him the few extra thrusts he knows will tip him over the edge. Jaskier as well, though he’s loath to admit it. He generally prides himself on his stamina. “If I let you come, oh mighty king, what will you give me?” he asks, since he has never claimed to have a sense of self preservation 

Filavandrel’s mind scrambles to understand the question for a few moments, because _ what _ ? Then Jaskier swivels his hips and fine, yes, the impudent bard can have whatever he wants if only because the sheer audacity is refreshing. “One thing. Ask one gift of me and I will grant it,” he pants, because after all Jaskier is only human so how complicated can his desires be?

“Promise me,” Jaskier urges, biting Filavandrel’s earlobe and rocking forward just a bit.

“Yes,” Filavandrel whimpers as Jaskier strokes his cock for the first time since entering him. 

“Time,” Jaskier says, his heart pounding as the idea springs into his mind even though he’s not sure it is even a thing Filavandrel can grant. “I want time. I did not know about what happened to your people, and I have so much to discover. I need time to learn, and to tell stories so others can learn as well. I need time for Geralt...well.” His tone is telling enough, he supposes. It could take several human life spans for Geralt to even become interested in him as more than a travel companion.

“Your mind goes to him even now,” Filavandrel marvels. He could be jealous he supposes, but this is simply a dalliance and there is something inspiring about that kind of devotion. And he really, really doesn’t want Jaskier to stop. “Bite my lip,” he urges, pleasure building as Jaskier begins to move his hips and hand again. 

Jaskier does, wondering if that is somehow a yes. 

“Harder!” 

Jaskier isn’t sure if he means the bite or his thrusts so he does both until he tastes the copper tang of blood and Filavandrel is arching up into him and making absolutely feral noises and then he clenches even tighter and Jaskier can feel warm spurts against his stomach and that’s it, he can’t hold on any longer. He clutches the elf close enough to bruise as his own release washes over him as well and it’s so incredibly good, better than usual he thinks hazily at first and then with more clarity as it just doesn’t  _ end _ . He jerks and squirms uncontrollably because it’s almost too good, almost painful, and Filavandrel is holding him tightly and whispering something too soft to hear against his lips and just as he is about to pass out from it all the sensations slowly ease and he flops bonelessly onto Filavandrel’s chest. “What the fuck was that?” he marvels. 

“Time, I think,” Filavandrel replies, stroking Jaskier’s sweat slicked back and enjoying the tingling afterglow. “This kind of chaos is inexact, there are no specific spells for something as dangerous as immortality. Can you imagine if there were? No, the laws of nature are not easily defied, but they can be...reasoned with. My blood, our pleasure, the prospect of something interesting and possibly destructive. Yes, I think it worked but there’s no real way to test it other than live and find out.” 

“Wait, immortality?” Jaskier asks in surprise. He hadn’t meant that, doesn’t even think he would want it.

“No, nothing like that. There are stories of companions of elves or mages who live extraordinarily long lives. They aren't immortal, just being gifted with a bit of their lover’s time. I gave you a few of my years, which being immortal you wouldn't think that makes any sense, and yet.”

“Now a story like that is worthy of a ballad!” Jaskier comments, already half-composing it. “How many is a few?” 

“Hard to say, probably around a hundred.” Filavandrel shrugs. 

“A hundred?! I was thinking maybe ten!” Jaskier’s mind scrambles to consider a hundred extra years. Geralt is bound to fall in love with him by then, surely. He smiles. “Thank you. I vow to use my time to compose all the stories about your people. Stories so sad they will break hearts, about the cruelty of your treatment. Stories of valor and honor, of your beauty and wisdom. Give me a decade Filavandrel, and you and your people will be respected again. Awed.” 

Filavandrel strokes his fingers through Jaskier’s hair and can’t help but smile in return. He hadn’t considered it, but given how popular the “toss a coin” song is it probably isn’t an empty promise. “I look forward to better music reaching its way to me then. But in the meantime...let’s see what you can do with a few hours,” he challenges as he rolls them so that he is looking down into Jaskier’s ridiculously blue eyes. “And the next time you see Geralt, tell him what my silver tongue can really do.” 


End file.
